


Spellbound: All Hallow's Eve

by SimplyShelbs16



Series: Spellbound Universe [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Molly's a Witch, Sequel, Sherlock's a Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-07-12 20:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyShelbs16/pseuds/SimplyShelbs16
Summary: Sequel; takes place a year after the epilogue of Spellbound (I suggest reading that first). Sherlock and Molly encounter a man who's out for revenge at the Watsons' Victorian themed Halloween party. Meanwhile, there's a woman roaming around London, impersonating Emelia Ricoletti. Magic, Mayhem, Mystery, and a Murder (or two) Most Foul.





	1. He Had It Comin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsfrankensteinwinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsfrankensteinwinchester/gifts).



> I wanna dedicate this to my girl, Kathi (mrsfrankensteinwinchester), cause she is literally the biggest fan of this series, and I just love her so much!

                The crisp October air bit at his skin. The man supposed it was worth it to meet his mistress for a night of passion. The fog began closing in around him, thicker than the down blanket his wife was sleeping under when he left. A snapping of a twig caught his attention, making him realize he was not, in fact, alone.

                “Who’s there?” he called out.

                “Only I,” a woman’s voice whispered in the dark.

                “Oh, thank goodness,” the man sighed in relief. “I was beginning to think you were ready to call it off. Where are you, my love?”

                He watched as a hand broke through the fog towards him. Her nails were painted a crimson red. As she came into view, he saw she wore a vintage style wedding dress—Victorian, perhaps—with long lace sleeves and a veil that hid her face from view.

                “'Til death do us part,” she hissed before the dagger pierced his heart.

* * *

 

                “Molly!” Sherlock shouted. “Victoria sneezed again!”

                “Oh, bugger, what’d she do now?” Molly asked, rushing into the sitting room. Their daughter had a habit of being able to do simple magic almost any time she screamed, sneezed or cried. Molly looked around, but nothing seemed amiss until her husband cleared his throat. The deerstalker he loathed so much was now sitting atop his head for the hundredth time.

                “This blasted hat is the bane of my existence,” he huffed.

                “Oh, Sherlock, do stop being melodramatic,” Molly laughed. “You know she loves it!” She lifted their six month old daughter into her arms. “You love playing jokes on daddy, don’t you, darling girl?”

                “Dadadada,” was Victoria’s reply whilst she laughed excitedly.

                Sherlock walked over to his wife and daughter, swiping the hat off his head.

                “I love you both very much, you know,” he spoke softly, one hand on the small of Molly’s back and the other gently stroking the chestnut curls on their Victoria’s head.

                It was then that Greg Lestrade strolled in looking white as a ghost.

                “Any possibility I can get you two to come to Bart’s quickly?” he asked them. “A highly regarded member of the British government has been murdered!”

                “Was it Mycroft?” asked Sherlock, who grimaced when Molly elbowed him.

                “Oh dear? Another murder?” Mrs. Hudson asked, bringing up the tea. “I’ll take care of the little one whilst you two take care of things.”

                “Mrs. Hudson, are you sure?” Molly asked.

                “Quite sure,” their landlady replied, taking Victoria into her arms. “Don’t you worry about a thing!”

                It wasn’t long before Sherlock and Molly were out the door to inspect the gruesome scene they were about to behold.

* * *

 

                In the mortuary, the body of Thomas Milton was laid out before them.

                “A member of the House of Commons I presume?” Sherlock deduced. When Greg opened his mouth, Sherlock interrupted. “It was a rhetorical question.”

                “Eight stab wounds, but he was pierced through the heart first,” Molly observed.

                “A bit excessive don’t you think?” Greg asked.

                “Excessive, yes, but there’s a clue from it,” Sherlock remarked.

                Greg looked at the couple dumbfounded.

                “It was a crime of passion,” Sherlock and Molly spoke in unison.

                “That’s scary, you two.” Lestrade shook his head in disbelief. “It’s like you share the same brain.”

                ‘Yes, well, time for you to go so Molly and I can concentrate—you think much too loudly,” Sherlock hurried the Detective Inspector out of the room.

                “Did you have to be so rude?” his wife scolded him.

                “Darling, I’m sorry,” he murmured into her ear.

                “I’m not the one you should apologise to,” she remarked.

                “I will apologise to Lestrade when we’re done,” he promised.

                “Wake,” Molly spoke firmly, a jolt of electricity burst from her fingertip.

                “Wha—where am I?” an undead Thomas Milton asked.

                Just then someone burst into the mortuary.

                “Sorry, forgot my pho—BLOODY HELL!” Greg shouted in a fright.

                Molly, on impulse, returned Milton to his previously lifeless state.

                “We can explain,” Sherlock paled.

* * *

 

                Somewhere in dark hidden alcove of a back alley, two men are heard whispering back and forth by a passerby—a woman taking a shortcut home from work. She walked quickly, her heels against the pavement being the only other sound.

As the clicking of her shoes echoed throughout the alley, her heart rate accelerated. She walked faster. Chills covered her skin, feeling as though someone was watching her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. The end of the alley was just within her reach when a large hand grabbed her shoulder.

“Shouldn’t have been eavesdropping,” was all she heard before everything went black.   


	2. Can't Shake This Feeling

“H-how the bloody hell did you do that!?” Lestrade asked in a panic.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” was Sherlock’s reply.

“Sherlock!” Molly scolded him.

“I’m gonna need a drink,” replied the detective inspector.

“You won’t believe us even if we told you,” Sherlock continued, hoping Greg would just decide that ignorance is bliss.

“After seeing a dead man sit up, I think I’d believe anything at this point,” Greg pointed out.

“He’s right, darling,” Molly agreed.

“Oh, very well. You can explain it more gently than I.”

Lestrade listened closely to what he was being told. If anything, it made sense to him that his friends were a witch and a werewolf. It definitely explained why Sherlock refused to takes cases during a full moon. Molly told him the entire tale of their séance with Moriarty’s ghost and Irene’s vampiric nature.

“A murderous ghost…that’s a new one,” Greg laughed nervously. “A perfect crime if ever I heard of one.”

“You won’t say anything, right?” Molly’s worried expression was plain as the nose on her face.

“Betray you two? I’d sooner spend the day with Anderson,” he assured them.

“And that’s when you know he means it,” Sherlock remarked, rather amused.

* * *

 

Later that night, Molly was in a fitful sleep. She tossed and turned countless times, unable to rid herself of the nightmare. Horrifying images plagued her mind; nails painted crimson red, a woman strangled in a back alley, and Sherlock bleeding just below his naval. A man’s bone-chilling laugh could be heard during the latter image.

Sherlock woke to the sound of his wife’s scream, thoroughly surprised it didn’t wake Victoria.

“Molly, wake up,” he urged her. “Look at me; it’s just a nightmare.”

“Sherlock,” she breathed heavily. “You’re okay. Oh thank God you’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?” He took her hand in his, immediately chilling him. “You’re ice cold. What’s happened?”

“I-I think I had a vision,” she admitted.

“Of the future?” he asked.

“I assume so, though I hope that last one never happens.” Her voice was tremulous at this point.

“Tell me; maybe it can be prevented,” Sherlock assured her.

“You were lying on the ground; cold concrete,” she began. “You were bleeding from below your naval. While not entirely fatal, it would’ve needed medical attention quickly.”

“Is there anything else you remember?”

“A man’s laugh; it was so malicious, it chilled me to the bone,” Molly told him. “I’ve no idea what it means other than you’re in danger. Before that, I saw crimson nails, and a strangled woman in a back alley of London.”

Wrapping his arms around her, Sherlock comforted his wife as best as he could. Molly clung onto him, welcoming his embrace.

“What are we going to do?” she trembled.

“There isn’t much we can do at the moment,” he pointed out. “But we should at least tell John and Mary.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. “After all, Mary is in your coven. We’ll have more power on our side than we did last time.”

Molly agreed. It was the most logical thing to do, of course. She settled comfortably in his arms, eventually lulled to sleep by her husband singing softly to her just as he did for Victoria. Tomorrow, they’d tell their friends what to look out for.

* * *

 

She followed a man to Leinster Gardens, keeping far enough away as to go unnoticed, but close enough to not lose the trail. Her light brown eyes kept an eye through the veil, watching as the adulterous husband searched for his mistress. Oh, he believed it to be another secret meeting, but never considered it was the night he’d meet his doom.

 _‘It’s time_ ,’ she thought with a sinister satisfaction.

“Who’s there?” The man called out. “I demand you show yourself at once!”

That’s when the singing began. It was too soft to make out the words, but it was alarming enough to send chills up his spine. Feeling breath on the back of his neck, he turned around slowly.

“You broke your vows,” she whispered, raising her dagger high.

“Stay away!” he shouted.

A light turned on, distracting them both. When the man turned back to face her, she had disappeared.

* * *

 

Mary Watson set down Molly’s cup of tea. John and Sherlock had been called in by Greg to take a look at the murder scene of Gwendoline Beauchamp, who had been strangled with nothing other than gloved hands.

“You’re more experienced, Mary…there’s gotta be something I can do to prevent my vision,” Molly fretted. “The crimson nails probably belong to the murderer of Milton, and now this strangled woman I saw in my nightmare.”

“I’m sorry, poppet, but there’s nothing more to be done. The visions aren’t there for us to prevent them; only to help prepare us for what’s to come,” Mary informed her sympathetically.

The sound of squealing, happy babies averted their attention momentarily. Rosie and Victoria were keeping themselves occupied in the playpen.

“The best you can do is making sure you’re always prepared at a moment’s notice if Sherlock should ever meet his fate in your vision,” Mary continued. “I wish I could do more, but the most I can offer is helping you with a tracking spell once we find out who has a vendetta against Sherlock.”

“Mary, there’s so many people it could be,” Molly pointed out. “I could probably write up pages of names.”

“Well, supernaturally speaking, is there anyone who may want to avenge Moriarty or Irene?” she inquired.

“Kate was Irene’s closest ally, but only because she had been sired by her,” Molly explained. “As for Moriarty…it could be anyone. He never let on who his allies were.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Mary smirked.

Molly couldn’t get a word out before her friend began setting out vials and a couple of herbs.

“This should help you focus your mind and allow you to control what your next vision shows you,” Mary explained.

“How very useful,” Molly remarked, her burden lifting off her ever so slightly. “Yes, this should be perfect.”

* * *

 

Fingers drummed against the shabby wooden table in the old warehouse.

“About time you showed up,” remarked a man with a slight Irish accent.

The man who had just entered to warehouse stood for a moment in silence before tossing his gun on the torn sofa.

“Bad time at the club?” the Irishman asked.

“Was caught cheating and this hotshot—Adair—threatened to expose me,” he replied.

“So, what’d you do then?”

“What I’m good at—I killed ‘im.”

“Ah, well. I do hope you were conspicuous. Holmes is onto us, Sebastian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two different mysteries at play here...anyone guess the big bad was gonna be Sebastian? Oh, and did anyone catch the Easter Egg from The Adventure of the Empty House? Also, if anyone has any guesses as to who the two remaining unidentified villains are, don't hesitate to take a shot in your review, though I won't tell until the reveal chapter!


	3. What Big Teeth You Have

                Sherlock scanned the crime scene before him, looking for anything out of place. The strangled woman had already been taken away to Bart’s for further observation. The stench of blood was still strong as ever.

                “Find anything?” John asked.

                “Nope,” Sherlock replied with emphasis on the ‘p.’ “Wait.” He squinted his eyes, spotting the hidden alcove in the alley. Within that alcove was a locked door to a warehouse. “She must have walked past there before it happened. Wrong place at the wrong time it seems.”

                “Drug deal?” Lestrade suggested.

                “No.” Sherlock bent down and stood back up with a card between his gloved fingers. “Ace of diamonds.”

                “A gambler then?” John guessed.

                “Precisely.”

                _Wrong place at the wrong time_ , he thought. _Only a couple miles from Baker Street; this could’ve been Molly. She could’ve died just as easily by the hand of this man._ His chest constricted at the thoughts that now plagued him. The reality of it was so real, he could swear he smelled his wife’s scent at the scene.

                “Sherlock?” Lestrade asked with worry.

                “Something’s wrong.” He quickly made his way out of the alley, ready to hail a cab. A voice in the back of his mind—Molly’s voice—pleaded him to come home.

* * *

 

Sipping the concoction hesitantly, Molly wrinkled her nose at the taste. It wasn’t disgusting, per se, but it was definitely not something she’d ever choose to drink. It was nearing seven o’clock in the evening, and Sherlock would be home any minute now after having spent most of the day with John and Lestrade.

She had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. The tension in the air thickened as she felt the looming gaze from behind. Molly reached out for the chef’s knife, but before she could grab it, the window burst open; a cold breeze sent shivers up her spine as she shouted from the scare. Footsteps were heard from the stairway.

“Everything alright up here, dear?” Mrs. Hudson inquired.

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Hudson, it’s alright,” Molly assured her. “Just had a bit of a scare is all.” Her hand was still over her heart as if willing it to slow down. Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow crossed over the window in the flat across from 221B. Victoria began crying from within her playpen, the lights flickering from her displeasure.

* * *

 

Sherlock rushed up the stairs, the heavy footfalls reverberating throughout the building. Upon flying through the doorway, he stopped a moment to survey the flat. Molly’s eyes were wild with fright as she held their daughter close to her breast. Victoria was still giving her lungs a workout from her cries, the lights still flickering.

“What’s happened?” His breath was heavy still as he spoke. Two long strides, and he was by Molly’s side.

“We’ve had a fright,” Molly told him. “The window blew open and scared us all. I saw a shadow in the abandoned flat across from us out of the corner of my eye, though. Sherlock, there’s someone watching us.”

He turned a moment, noticing their landlady was present in the room. “Ah, Hudders,” Sherlock greeted her.

“I came up to check on her,” Mrs. Hudson informed him. Noticing his subtle look of wanting to be alone with his family, she took her leave. “I see all is well now, so I’ll just see myself out.”

Sherlock wrapped both his wife and daughter in his arms, pressing kisses into Molly’s hair. She closed her eyes in silent relief that he was there with her—with them.

“I’ve got her,” Sherlock offered. “You’re entirely exhausted, darling.”

“It’s that obvious?” she asked, setting Victoria in his arms. Sherlock bounced their daughter gently to soothe her. The crying had subsided with the exception of a few sniffles now and then.

“Are those herbs I smell?” Sherlock sniffed the air.

 “Yes, Mary brewed up a concoction that should help me take better control of my visions,” Molly replied.

“As we’ve learned from previous events, your visions are not to be ignored,” Sherlock remarked, his free hand lacing with hers.

“Oh, and we’ve been invited to John and Mary’s Halloween party,” she told her husband. “It’s Victorian themed; I rather love the idea.”

“Not a bad idea at all,” Sherlock remarked, Victoria happily babbling in his arms.

“But, you loathe social outings,” Molly pointed out in confusion.

“For the most part, yes, but I will make an exception,” he replied. “Besides, it gives us a night to ourselves.”

Molly noted the suggestive tone of his voice, causing her to tug at her cardigan, feeling a little too warm.

“I suppose I should shop around for a suitable costume,” she told him.

“Mm, I already know you’ve got the corset.” He winked at her, and she felt her face heat up. No matter how long they’ve been together, Sherlock Holmes could still make her feel butterflies.

“Cheeky bugger,” she laughed. “We still need to be on the lookout at the party, though. If someone is after us, I wouldn’t put it past them to arrive uninvited.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement, his mind whirling through the possibilities of death. Who was after them anyhow? Someone associated with Moriarty was his best guess. And if that were true, then they were very much in danger.

* * *

 

Hot breath came out in large puffs, visible in the crisp October air. The full, silvery moon shone through the trees, creating shadows. Sherlock stalked through the woods, picking up the scent attached to the ace of diamonds he had found at the crime scene.

This man was a murderer, and was possibly after Sherlock’s own family. He crept along the path on his paws silently. Despite being a large wolf, he was quiet as mouse. His dark, furry ears perked up at the sound of the man’s voice. He appeared to be on a phone conversation.

_“Holmes is definitely on our trail now, ‘cept he doesn’t know our identities. His wife will be the first to go, and if he still doesn’t cooperate after that, he won’t get to keep his daughter either.”_

A growl ripped from Sherlock’s throat, nostrils flaring, eyes burning intensely.

 _“What the hell was that?”_ the man asked.

Sebastian turned around, and the last thing he saw was a large black wolf lunging for his throat.

* * *

 

The next morning, Sebastian’s partner in crime received a rather disturbing package. Blood dripped from the bottom of the box, soaking it entirely.

“Holmes,” the Irishman snarled upon opening the box. Inside was the head of none other than Sebastian Moran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to penelope1730 for helping figure out what this chapter was missing before I finished it. Killing off Sebastian was not originally planned, but the real danger lies with his partner in crime. No sign of the abominable bride copycat in this chapter, but she will make a return in chapter 4. Thoughts?


	4. Here Comes the Bride

                _Soft footsteps in a carpeted hallway, a hand reaching out for the brass doorknob, her crimson nails lightly clacking against it. The door was opened and inside was a sleeping man—the same adulterous man she failed to rid the world of just a few days ago. It was as if she glided across the room, approaching the bed._

_“Wake up,” she commanded. His eyes fluttered, then widened at the sight of her._

_“Y—you again,” he stumbled out._

_“Until death,” she sang out before piercing his heart._

                Molly woke from her vision early in the morning to find Sherlock missing from their bed. All was answered when she crept out to the sitting room to find her husband naked and stretched out on the sofa, a blanket thrown over him at an odd angle. There was blood on his lips, and he smelled like a forest.

                She knew it had been a full moon last night, but also knew he could control himself much more easily now. If there was blood, he had obviously killed someone…but who?

                Sherlock stirred in his sleep, feeling eyes on him. He opened his own to see his wife looking down at him with concern.

                “Molly.” His voice was gruff from the obvious long night he had.

                “Sherlock, what the hell happened?” she asked quietly as to not wake their daughter.

                He sat up, allowing her to have room on the sofa.

                “A man named Sebastian Moran; he was Moriarty’s right hand man, and the only member of his criminal empire I couldn’t track down,” Sherlock told her. “I was in the woods, following the scent I had smelled at the crime scene in the alley. He was on the phone with an associate—Molly, he threatened to kill you and Victoria if I didn’t cooperate; with what, I don’t know.”

                Molly looped her arm through his, holding onto him as he struggled to come up with the words to say.

                “I did what I had to do for the sake of my family,” he continued.

                “I know,” she soothed. “Darling, I know.”

                Sherlock watched as Molly rose from the sofa toward the kitchen. She came back with a glass of water and a damp washcloth. He took the glass gratefully, taking one large sip of it before setting it on the table.

                “I love you, you know,” Molly spoke softly, gently wiping the blood off Sherlock’s lips.

                “Even after knowing what I’ve done?” he asked. “I killed a man in cold blood.”

                “He was an evil man,” Molly pointed out.

                “I left his head for his associate outside the warehouse in the alley,” Sherlock admitted.

                “You always did have a flair for the dramatics,” Molly gave an amused smile, washing off the last bit of blood. “There, all clean.”

                She leaned over him to set the washcloth on the side table, using her hand on his thigh to balance herself. Sherlock felt his heartrate spike from the simple action.

                When she sat upright once more, Molly locked her arms around his neck, her lips pressing against his softly.

                “You did what you had to do,” she told him. “Come to bed with me.”

                “But it’s already morning,” he pointed out.

                “Come. To. Bed,” Molly insisted.

                “Right, yes, of course,” Sherlock replied after having finally realized what she meant. The night before may have been a horrific nightmare, but the morning had brought him a dream.

* * *

 

                _As Sherlock continued to bleed, the bone-chilling laughter began to sound familiar. It was on the tip of her tongue._

_The man was a blur she couldn’t make out, but when he approached her dying husband, he spoke._

_“Any last words?” the accent was most definitely Irish. He sounded a bit like—no, that’s not possible._

_“Yeah,” Sherlock answered. “Gotcha.”_

                Molly stirred in her sleep, but did not wake. Sherlock had already been up and about, cooking breakfast and taking care of Victoria. It was close to nine thirty in the morning when he decided to go wake his wife.

                He lay beside her, brushing the hair back from her face, telling her to wake up. He kissed her cheek, which got him a sleepy smile in return. Sherlock received a lovely sound from her when he began trailing his lips down her neck, lingering at her pulse point.

                “Mmm, come here,” she told him, her hands now in his curls. Molly smiled against his lips, pressed firmly to hers. She shivered—from the kiss or the fact she hadn’t been wearing anything underneath the duvet, she didn’t know; could be both.

                It was then that Victoria called out for him. “Da da da da da!”

                “And that’s my cue,” he chuckled. “I made breakfast.”

                “I’ll be there in a moment.”

* * *

 

                With a cup of tea in hand, Molly began approaching the table. Sherlock was making silly faces with their daughter when glass shattered, tea splashed on the floor.

                “Molly!? Darling, can you hear me?” Sherlock rushed to her side, careful to avoid the broken bits of china.

                _Wedding gown. Potion. Bleeding out. Sinister laughter. Halloween party._

                She could hear hardly hear him over the thumping sound of her own heart in her ears. The images flashed like a strobe light in her mind. The amount of energy coursing through her left her in a trancelike state.

                “Ma ma!” Victoria chimed in.

                A loud intake of breath alerted Sherlock that Molly had snapped out of it. She nearly went boneless in his arms from the exhaustion she now felt.

                “Are you alright?” her husband’s tone was full of concern.

                “Yes, I—I’ll be fine,” she replied.

                “Sherlock, Molly!” Lestrade greeted them. “What happened?”

                “Molly’s been having visions,” Sherlock explained.

                Victoria let out a sneeze, causing the door to slam shut behind Greg.

                “Bloody hell!” he jumped. “How’d that happen? Did she do that!?”

                “She did,” Molly smiled in amusement. “What did you need?”

                “Come in to Bart’s…you’re gonna want to see for yourself.”

* * *

 

                The man’s heart had been pierced only once, but the most interesting feature was that there were scratches across his abdomen and neck.

                “Clearly the scratches were made after he had died,” Sherlock pointed out.

                “Seems to have been pierced by the same dagger Thomas Milton was murdered with,” Molly realized. “Who was his wife again, Greg?”

                “Janine Hawkins-Milton…why?”

                “We’ll be paying her a visit. This man laid before us is none other than Edward Blackwood—another member of the House of Commons.”

                “Christ, are you serious?”

                “Not quite, but, quite serious. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if—“

                Sherlock’s mobile rang.

                “Mycroft, I was just about to mention you.”

                “Get down to my office, brother mine,” the eldest Holmes commanded. “Bring my sister-in-law too. The widowed Mrs. Milton would like to speak with you.”

                “Perfect timing.”

* * *

 

                “In here,” Anthea smiled, opening the door.

                “Good luck,” Mycroft remarked before closing them inside.

                “Mister Holmes,” Janine greeted him. “Haven’t seen you since John and Mary’s wedding. And Molly, how’s married life?”

                “Just lovely, thank you,” Molly replied coldly. She didn’t like the way Janine was looking at her husband as if he were a piece of meat.

                “Mrs. Milton, did you know Edward Blackwood?” Sherlock asked.

                “I—well, I believe I met him once or twice at one of those dreadful charity balls,” Janine answered. “Why? Do you think he murdered my husband?”

                “No. He’s dead. We believe this is the work of a woman,” Sherlock informed her. “Did your husband have an affair? Perhaps he had been murdered by his mistress because he wouldn’t leave you.”

                “My Thomas having an affair? Mister Holmes, I know for a fact he was faithful.” Janine circled Sherlock, running her crimson nails down his arm seductively. Sherlock winced, shaking her off.

                _Crimson nails._

                “Well, that’s funny,” Molly piped up, shooting daggers at the woman. “There were blonde hairs from a woman found on his clothes, and both you and he are brunettes.”

                “She would know; she did the post-mortem,” Sherlock added.

                “Janine,” Molly smiled faker than Richard Brooks’ existence. “I just love your nails! Oh my, did you lose one? That’s a pity.”

                “Oh, yes, they are lovely. I believe I lost one in the sink last night,” she replied. “Dishes can do harm to manicures.”

                Sherlock listened to the exchange, knowing exactly what Molly meant to get out of it. And she had succeeded.

                “Well, that’ll be all for today,” he told her.

                As Sherlock and Molly left, Mycroft was sent a text from his brother to keep Janine distracted whilst they searched Blackwood’s home.

                “She didn’t even seem upset over her husband’s death. Black widow’s more like it,” Molly remarked.

                “You’re brilliant,” Sherlock laughed. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find that nail in Blackwood’s bedroom.”

* * *

 

                Molly searched the bed for it, shaking out sheets and pillows.

                “We must hurry, Molly. Mycroft texted. He couldn’t keep Janine at bay for long. I think she knows where we are,” Sherlock told her.

                “Found it!” Molly held it up with her gloved fingers.

                “ _You wouldn’t be here if you were smart.”_

                Sherlock and Molly looked at each other, panic etched on their faces as they heard the singing and the footsteps.

                The door burst open, and the bride stood there with her dagger raised high.

                “ _Mr. and Mrs. Holmes…til death do you part.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone guess it was Janine? Probably not, since I didn't give much clue to the identity of the bride. The Watsons' Halloween party is coming in chapter 5, so stay tuned! Please let me know what you loved about this chapter!


	5. There's No Escape When Fire Meets Fate

                Janine lunged forward towards Molly, but her attack was dodged. Sherlock was able to grab hold of her wrist to disarm her quickly. The dagger clattered on the floor. He swept it beneath the bed with a swipe of his foot. Molly’s hands shot out, her magic suspending Janine in the air. Much to their surprise, Janine had broken from the spell, and sent Molly flying up against the wall.

                “You’re a witch,” Molly realized. “What coven are you from?”

                “Covens,” Janine scoffed. “I don’t belong to any coven. Why should I conform to their rules?”

                “Because it’s the law!” Molly shouted. “Not that you have any consideration for any law.”

                “Right you are, Molly. I won’t have any problem finishing you,” Janine spoke with malice.

                “Over my dead body,” Sherlock snarled. He had texted Greg whilst Janine was bantering with Molly.

                A growl ripped form Sherlock’s throat as his bones twisted into form. The pain was always agonizing, but he’d be damned if this witch was gonna hurt his wife.

                “Figures you’d be a dog,” Janine remarked.

                Sherlock snarled at her remark, ready to lunge if she didn’t let Molly go.

                “Say goodbye to your wife, Mister Holmes.”

                “Sherlock, no!” Greg shouted, bursting into the room. His presence distracted Janine enough to let go of her hold on Molly. “I’ve got this one, mate. Cool off.”

                Molly sighed in relief, slinking down to the floor in exhaustion. Sherlock padded his way to her, and nuzzled his head against her cheek.

                “I’m alright, you sappy ball of fur,” she laughed lightly. “Come on, let’s go home.” Molly put a glamour on Sherlock so others wouldn’t be able to see a large wolf walking down the street.

                “Hey, where’d he go?” Greg asked whilst he cuffed Janine.

                “Invisibility spell; wouldn’t wanna cause a city-wide panic,” Molly replied.

                “He can’t shift back?”

                “He can, but not unless you’d like to see him in a state of undress,” she smiled with amusement.

                “Best get ‘im home, then,” Greg agreed.

* * *

 

                **_Two Days Later_**

                Molly finished the final touches of her Victorian costume, complete with corset, petticoats, and a pale blonde wig styled to her liking. Her earrings were anatomical hearts made out of gears from watches. She liked to have a bit of steampunk incorporated into her ensemble. Sherlock had looked devastatingly handsome with his inky black hair slicked back. She had helped him adjust his cravat perfectly before changing.

                Only a few minutes before they’d be leaving, and another vision hit Molly. She felt dizzy from the quickness of it, but it offered her the explanation of her last vision with Sherlock and the evil man who sounded an awful lot like—

                “Molly, just a couple more minutes,” Sherlock called out to her.

                “Be right there, darling,” she replied.

                Quickly she gathered ingredients from the chest her grimoire was stored away. It only took a few seconds to mix the concoction in the potion vial. She watched as the color transitioned from electric blue to a deep purple indicating that it was finished. This would definitely save Sherlock from the fate in her vision.

                “What’s that?” Sherlock asked from the doorway. He gazed at his wife in awe. She looked beautiful in her Victorian costume. A part of him admitted how well the style fitted both of them, and he began to wonder what life would be like for them in such a time.

                “Oh, just a safety precaution,” Molly assured him. “Mrs. Hudson has Victoria for the night, and I am determined to have a wonderful time with my husband.”

* * *

 

                The party was already in full swing when Sherlock and Molly arrived. Mary greeted them both with kisses on their cheek, leading them through the mass amount of guests. Sherlock’s mind was whirling as he tried to scan the room to find anyone out of place. He was deeply worried for Molly’s safety even though he was the one nearly bleeding to death in her vision.

                They were stopped by John who was in the midst of a conversation with Stamford.

                “Molly! Sherlock! How are the two of you on this Hallow’s Eve?” Mike asked them, joyful as ever.

                “We’re doing just fine, Mike. And yourself?” Molly inquired.

                “Oh, wonderful, really,” he replied. “Bloody fantastic!”

                Sherlock knitted his brows, pulling Mary aside.

                “You’ve done something with the punch haven’t you?” he deduced.

                “Maybe a little something…just to keep everyone happy,” Mary answered him. “I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

                “It may actually be a good thing in this case—Molly and I have reason to believe Moran’s partner in crime will crash the party,” Sherlock explained. “He may already be here. If we find someone avoiding the punch, or someone less than happy, we’ll have our culprit.”

                “Well, I do hate party crashers, so do what you must,” Mary told him. “And please, if there’s anything I can do to help you bring him down, let me know.”

                Sherlock nodded in agreement.

                Molly, having overheard the conversation, pulled Mary aside as well.

                “Did you mean it? You’re willing to help us?” Molly whispered.

                “Yes, of course! Do you need me to do something?” Mary asked.

                “I may need your help with something, yes, but you mustn’t tell anyone until I say so—not even Sherlock,” Molly informed her.

                “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to do something reckless?

                “That, my dear Watson, is because you know me too well.”

* * *

 

                He watched from a far corner, away from the crowd. No sign of Holmes yet, but the great consulting annoyance was bound to show up eventually. Of course, he didn’t expect Sherlock Holmes to have dressed in Victorian garb for the occasion. For once, it made him blend in, becoming invisible to the Irishman.

                But wait—there he was in all his prideful glory. Sherlock Holmes had just descended the stairs in his trademark Belstaff and scarf. The Irishman followed him through the crowd and out the back door.

                “I knew it was you. I didn’t want to believe it, but here you are, flesh and blood…James Moriarty.”

                “If you are thinking I am my twin brother, you are incorrect, Mister Holmes.” He paused a moment. “I do share the same name with my deceased twin, but that is precisely why I’m after you and your wife. You banished him from this Earth. Your wife hexed him long before the two of you met, and then he died on that rooftop where you should have perished as well.”

                James Moriarty circled his enemy as he spoke, waiting for the right moment.

                “Quite the motive, but I—“ Sherlock tried to fight as soon as the cloth his mouth. The chloroform was too strong. It wasn’t long before he was out cold.

* * *

 

                “Mary, have you seen Molly?” Sherlock asked. “I’m terribly worried something is wrong. I can feel it.”

                “She had just gone out back, but Sherlock, you should know—“

                But he was no longer listening. He raced outside to find no sign of her anywhere. However, he did find one of the buttons off his coat.

                “How did this get here?”

                “That’s what I need to tell you,” Mary spoke up.

                “Tell me everything.”

                _“What exactly are we doing again?” Mary asked, making space in the spare bedroom._

_“Shifting spell,” Molly replied as she drew the pentagram on the wood floor with chalk. “Take the clothes out of my bag, will you?”_

_Mary did as was told, gasping when she took the first piece out._

_“Sherlock’s coat…Molly are you crazy!?”_

_“It’s the only way to make sure he doesn’t get hurt,” she justified her reasoning._

_Mary watched as Molly sat in the middle of the pentagram, swirling around a deep purple potion. After uncorking it, she drank it down quickly whilst making a face that told Mary it tasted awful. She began to chant in Latin, completing the process. Nothing happened at first, and then the pain began. Growing nine inches taller could definitely take a toll on anyone. The bone structure in her face changed as well, making the transition complete._

_“What do you think?” a baritone voice asked._

_“Blimey, it changed your voice too,” Mary was shocked at how efficient the spell was. Without a doubt, she was looking at an exact replica of Sherlock Holmes. “I just don’t understand.”_

_“My last vision ended with Sherlock’s last words being ‘gotcha,’” Molly explained. “The only plausible explanation is that I trick him into thinking I’m Sherlock.”_

_“Then you’ll be the one bleeding out; I can’t let you do this, Molly,” Mary argued._

_“It’s already been done. I have to protect my family, no matter the cost,” Molly pointed out._

_Mary couldn’t argue with that. She would take a bullet for her family…and the Holmes’s._

_“Do what you must, but I will tell Sherlock if you wind up missing,” Mary told her._

_“That’s precisely what I’m counting on, Mary.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now what'd y'all think of that? So many revelations in this chapter? Which one was your favorite? Since it is midnight here, it's officially my 23rd birthday! So, my gift to y'all is another chapter! All I ask are your lovely reviews in return!


	6. If You Love Me, Don't Let Go

                Molly’s eyes opened slowly. She was cold, and lying on a hard, concrete floor. Her mouth was dry as cotton. She looked down at her—no, _his_ hands. For a moment, she forgot that she had shifted into him. Maybe Mary was right about this being a stupid plan, but she still felt better knowing that her family would be okay. The room was spinning. Her head was pounding. She heard footsteps coming toward her.

                “Well, well, well,” Moriarty approached his dead twin’s enemy. “It seems there’ll be no one to save you this time, Mister Holmes.”

                Molly tried to speak, but her mouth was too dry. Much to her surprise, he offered up a glass of water. She took it gratefully, but knew what would be coming next. She’d have to fight as hard as she could even though the outcome would be the same.

                “There now, that’s better. After I’m through with you, your family is next,” Moriarty taunted with a sneer.

                “You bastard,” Sherlock’s baritone voice came out weak. “You may kill me, but you won’t make it out alive either. I guarantee it.”

                Molly, now sitting up, used her magic to heal the small injuries, for it’s all her power was capable of at the moment. Before she could get to the cut on the right hand, Moriarty had kicked her in the stomach, and she fell down flat again. This wasn’t going to be easy. Whatever was in that chloroform also weakened her magic. And here she thought she’d have the element of surprise. This plan was very foolish.

* * *

 

                Sherlock weaved in and out of traffic on a motor bike in the Watsons’ garage. John had bought it due to his bout of a midlife crisis. Mary sat behind him, praying that it wasn’t too late. Thankfully, Sherlock knew exactly where the warehouse was located. This would also prove Moriarty as the murderer of that woman found in the alley.

                He stopped the bike a block away and wheeled it to the alley, with Mary trailing behind.

                “This is it,” Sherlock told her.

                Mary saw his shaky intake of breath, clearly worried out of his mind that he’d find his wife dead. Soon after, his face was a cold, stone mask of determination. Whatever state Molly was in, there was no doubt that Moriarty would see the inevitable end tonight.

* * *

 

                “Before I kill you, I’d like to see you turn, Holmes. Show me the mangy mutt you are,” Moriarty demanded.

                _Shit_ , Molly thought. She’d have to buy herself some time. “I can’t do it…too…weak.” She dragged herself up, using one of the metal shelves to help with balance.

                “I said change!” Moriarty lunged at her, stabbing her just where the vision showed her. Immediately she fell to the ground in a heap.

                His laugh was sinister. Chills broke out all over her—well, Sherlock’s—body. He approached her once more, looking down at her with immense satisfaction.

                “Any last words?” he sneered.

                She noticed Sherlock and Mary enter quietly. “Yeah,” Molly replied in her husband’s baritone. “Gotcha.”

                “What?” Moriarty’s tone was full of confusion as he saw Molly shift back slowly.

                Out jumped a large, ginger-coloured wolf, baring his teeth. He tackled the madman to the ground. The wolf backed up, letting everyone through. Moriarty got to his feet once more.

                The real Sherlock came up from behind, and thwacked Moriarty on the back of the head with a thick wooden block. Mary used her magic to gather any hidden pieces of rope to tie him up well.

                “Thank you, brother mine,” Sherlock nodded at the wolf.

                “Molly, what the hell were you thinking!” Sherlock cried. “Mary we need to get her to a hospital! Did Mike get that ambulance here yet?”

                “I hear sirens, they’re coming,” Mary told him.

                At that, Mycroft ran off on all fours, so as not to be seen.

                Sherlock held his wife in his arms, brushing her hair back.

                “I saved you.” Her voice was hoarse. Only black filled her vision now.

                “Molly, no! You have to wake up for me, darling. Stay with me.” Sherlock was beside himself with grief. She needed to pull through. She had to. “I love you, Molly. Please just wake up. Open those beautiful brown eyes for me.”

                The paramedics rushed in, and Sherlock helped as best he could to get her situated.

                “Go with her Sherlock,” Mary told him. “I’ll stay until Lestrade gets here. Molly needs you.”

* * *

 

                It was like drowning in a black ocean. She couldn’t breathe from being held down. She could hear something. Her name, perhaps?

                _Molly. Listen to me._

                She was listening as hard as she could.

                _Don’t let go, Molly. Hold onto me._

                Blinding white lights filled her vision. Everything appeared blurry at first, and then she saw him.

                “Sherlock.” Her voice was brittle.

                She watched as he husband cried from relief. He wasn’t one for intense emotion, but this had sent him spinning into a fit of emotional outbursts.

                “I’m here, darling. Nurse! God, look at those eyes. I never thought I’d see them again.” Sherlock was babbling now. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

                He was kissing her cheekbones, her eyelids, her nose, and finally, her lips.

                “I’m sorry. I had to,” Molly told him.

                “We’ll talk about it later. You just focus on healing,” he spoke in a gentle, soothing tone. He pressed another kiss into her hair. “You’re safe now, my darling Molly.”

                The nurse came in, and Sherlock stepped back to get out of the way, never taking his eyes off of his wife.

                For three days straight, Sherlock had stayed by her side. John and Mary took care of Victoria for the time being. Molly had been healing quicker than expected, due to her magic, but the doctor and nurses took it as a miracle.

                “Sherlock, you need to go home. I’m being released tomorrow morning. Get some sleep in a real bed. John and Mary are gonna be here in a moment to bring Victoria in. Take her home, and spend time with your daughter,” Molly told him. “I’ll be fine for another night.”

                Her husband opened his mouth to protest, but one look from her shut him up.

                “Try not to do anything reckless in the next sixteen hours,” he remarked.

                “Look who it is, Victoria,” John announced their arrival.

                “Mumma!” she shouted with glee.

                “Poor thing has been havin’ a rough few nights with nightmares and such. But she and Rosie have been using what little of their magic they have to be mischievous little buggers,” Mary smiled.

                “Come to mummy,” Molly smiled, her arms outstretched.

                Sherlock joined her, watching his two favourite girls. He loved them more than anything else; his family was the most precious thing to him. And they were gonna be alright.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still an epilogue coming up! So stay tuned...who knows? It may even set things up for a 3rd story in the series next year. It's not for sure, but I'd like to leave a little opening.


	7. Epilogue

**_7 Weeks Later_ **

                The roaring fire was crackling in the sitting room, and the smell of cloves and cinnamon filled the air. It was now Christmas Eve. Sherlock, Molly, Victoria, Mycroft, and the Watsons were gathered at Mr. and Mrs. Holmes’s place. The children were playing with their toys on the floor, each being allowed to open one gift each after dinner.

                Sherlock walked in with a ginger nut in hand, taking notice of his wife with reading glasses perched on her nose. She held the book she was reading in one hand whilst she used her magic to stir the spoon in her tea with the other. It looked as though she had a hard time concentrating. Just to think, a few weeks ago, she had almost slipped away from him and their daughter. His heart hurt to think about it.  

                Molly felt his presence, and looked up into his eyes. “There you are,” she smiled. “I knew you snuck off for another biscuit.” Despite her bubbly disposition, Sherlock could see there was something bothering her.

                “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I can hear you thinking.”

                “I’ve just been a bit worried is all,” Molly replied. “I keep thinking back to what Janine said. She’s not part of a coven. That makes her rogue. How many more are out there that could be a danger to us?”

                “I haven’t the slightest idea, darling, but perhaps we should focus on the here and now,” Sherlock advised. “It’s Christmas Eve, and we’re here with our family and friends. We have all of next year to worry about this.”

                Molly shook her head. “You’re right. I shouldn’t stress over what hasn’t happened yet. I know where that got us last time. I am sorry, you know.”

                “I know.” Sherlock took her hand and pulled her close. “You did what you had to do. And I love you for that.”

                They both turned to look at their daughter, whose face was scrunched up as if she were about to sneeze. Everyone was prepared for what may happen when she did. She and Rosie were a handful when it came to their uncontrolled powers. The smallest squeak of a sneeze came out, but nothing was amiss…nothing except that Victoria’s ears were now baby wolf ears.

                “She’s both—Sherlock, she’s both.” Molly was astounded.

                They had quite a few years yet before she would be able to fully transition, but they knew their hands were gonna be very full. After all, there’s never been anyone who was ever half of one and half of the other—it was usually the dominant power that won out. Victoria was going to be a force to be reckoned with one day.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like I said in my author's note in the previous chapter, this epilogue closes some things while leaving other things open just in case I decide to write a 3rd one next year. I hope y'all enjoyed my story! I don't personally think this one was as good as the first Spellbound, but it has its own charm. Happy kickoff to the Sherlolly Halloween at 221B celebration!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to finally start writing this! I've been keeping this sequel a secret for 2 months! Please tell me what you enjoyed about this chapter!


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